Happy Birthday
by BlueBohemian
Summary: Scaramouche turns 18, Bohemian style. Was too long for a one shot, so it's in 3 chapters. Rated for language and some content.
1. Prologue

**I do not own WWRY, and anything recognisable isn't mine. We good? Then on with the show.**

'Mine _first_,' Meat Loaf insisted, thrusting a lumpy parcel at Scaramouche. At a look from Madonna she scowled, 'Fine. It's from all the girls.'

Scaramouche gave her a suspicious look and shook the parcel, 'Why don't I like the sound of that?'

Meat laughed, 'Yeh too suspicious you are. But jus' open the damn thing will ya?'

The parcel in question was wrapped in mismatched pieces of newspaper and scraps of poster and held together with vast amounts of string and sellotape. After battling with the knots Scaramouche managed to open it. 'What… is that?' she asked after a moment.

Meat laughed huskily, 'It's a costume,' she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

The 'costume' was duly produced to snorts from onlookers. Scaramouche glared at them. 'Meat,' she said slowly, 'it's a thing, a leather… thing, and a pair of boots. You cannot possibly be expecting me to wear that onstage in front of crowds of thousands.'

Meat laughed again, louder and for longer this time. 'Okay, firstly hen, the leather thing is a pair of hot pants, and the thing is an apron. And secondly, who said anything 'bout wearing it onstage? Unless you go in for that sort of thing, o' course.'

Scaramouche flushed crimson, berating herself for not having realised it sooner. It was her eighteenth birthday, and while she had no idea _how_ they knew, it appeared the Bohemians _did_ know. She had been sitting on the mattress in the room she shared with Galileo when Meat came in, looking like she was hiding something, and a livelier disposition than normal, if indeed, that were possible. On accompanying Meat to the bar, she found the majority of the bohemians milling around the room, and while there was nothing unusual about that, a smaller group of Galileo, Pop, Khashoggi, Big Macca, and a couple of the girls were clustered around one end of the bar, and instantly hushed the second she came into their line of vision.

'Hey! Don't Ah get a thank you?' Meat said indignantly.

'Not for that y'don't,' Scaramouche said flatly. 'You _know_ I hate my legs, hips and stomach.'

'And yeh hands.' Scaramouche glared again. 'Anyway, it's not like they're gonna be on show. Gaz donnae count.'

In a futile attempt to recover what remained of her dignity, Khashoggi pushed a second present towards her across the bar. Scaramouche threw him a momentary puzzled look, but then, he _was_ Meat's new man. The box was plain and unwrapped, giving no clue as to its contents. As she removed the electronic organiser, Khashoggi offered the explanation, 'I thought it might help with remembering things.' It was a well-known fact, that though she remembered most things of importance, time keeping was not one of her strong points. Particularly if Galileo had anything to do with it.

'I wasn't actually expecting you to like it,' Khashoggi said as she inspected it, so I-'

'-_We,_' Meat butted in.

'So we,' Khashoggi continued unperturbed, 'Got you this as well. As a more 'serious' present, as it were.'

Scaramouche took the proffered box and made a mental note to thank them all individually later.

'Ah chose 'em,' Meat enthused. She was clearly far more excited than Scaramouche.

The box held a single CD that blared the title _'The Lost Riffs'_.

Scaramouche looked at them in search of a further explanation, 'It's what we thought were the best lost riffs from the past ages,' Meat explained. 'We've been finding 'em for years, but we couldn't play them until we had the technology, which we couldn't get until Globalsoft fell. 'Shoggs cleaned them up for us an' burned the disc. Ah did the artwork.'

Scaramouche laughed, 'I thought as much,' she said, leaning across the bar to give each of them a hug and a kiss. Khashoggi flushed crimson, mortified.

'Well, thank you guys. It's amazing. I love it. And I'm sure the costume'll come in handy one day. Though, I have to ask Meat, _where_ did you get that picture?'

'CCTV.'

'How utterly embarrassing. And how like you.' Meat grinned. _Fait __accomplit_. The picture in question was a moment they all remembered well; Galileo had failed dismally at playing the guitar, so Scaramouche had, and in a dramatic finish had laid on her back with her legs in the air, pants on full display.

'Okay, now Mack and I have a confession to make,' Pop said apologetically. 'While,' he made a display of producing another present, from what could only be assumed to be the back of his trousers, 'I managed to keep these safe, wedged deep within the murky clefts-'

'Okay, okay, I get the drift, that's enough,' Scaramouche said hastily, realising where he was heading.

'Sorry. Anyway. The second half of your present got, erm, drunk. It would seem neither of us can be trusted. We did try though, honestly!'

Scaramouche rolled her eyes, and smiled at them, 'That's okay. You didn't have to get me anything.'

'Yes we did. It's not every day you legally become an adult.'

'How did you know that?' Scaramouche asked, taking the large, flat present, rather more cautiously than she had the others.

'That would be my confession,' Khashoggi said guiltily, 'I tracked you down on the archives. Wasn't hard-'

He was stopped mid-sentence by a gasp from Scaramouche, 'Bleedin' heck guys! Where'd you get these?' she asked, flicking through the carefully bound sheaves of paper, containing guitar tabs from all the different past ages, in chronological order.

It was Big Macca's turn to laugh at her, 'We found them and thought of you. Or the person that would be you.'

'But.. they're 'mazing!' unusually lost for words, she hopped off her stool and gave each of them a peck on the cheek, flinging her arms around their necks.

Galileo blinked and frowned, though fortunately, not so she could see. Pop, however, did, and grabbed Scaramouche around the waist, causing her to fall onto his lap. He looked down at her angry expression, amused. 'You just can't resist my impish ways, can you?'

'You know me too well,' Scaramouche said, hastily standing up.

'My turn!' Galileo said quickly, before realising in typical Galileo fashion that the present wasn't to hand.

'You left it behind the bar, kid,' Pop said. Galileo jumped up and ran behind the bar, returning a moment later. Accompanied by a kiss, and a happy birthday, he gave Scaramouche a small, carefully wrapped box.

'Oh, wow, Gaz! It's beautiful!' Scaramouche breathed, carefully examining a small statuette.

'D'ya really like it?' he asked nervously, 'I wasn't really sure about it. The hair went a bit wrong though.'

'_You_ made it?'

'Yeah. I had the idea so I just went with it.' The statue was one of her, playing the guitar, as she had done at Wembley, and so many times since. Intricately carved out of some kind of stone, the statue was accented in dark, scarlet red, on her corset, skirt, boots and guitar. He had spent hours agonising over the design, and many many more cursing, carving and restarting.

'Don't be a twit Gaz! Of course I love it. Thank you.' She lent across the bar and whispered something to him, to which he responded with a raised eyebrow and a look that combined shock, amusement and anticipation.

'Now, the fun donnae end there!' Meat said, handing her a large, flat packet, wrapped in scraps of cloth, 'This is from all of us, but mostly Lover-boy over there,' she said, pointing to Gaz.

Scaramouche awkwardly unwound the cloth and was faced with a collage of pictures of her, Galileo and the other Bohemians. She poured over it, amazed at the pictures; she'd had no idea a majority of them had even been taken. She stopped at a slightly grainy picture of her and Galileo sitting on the edge of the van and gave each of them a quizzical look. 'How'd you get that? No one else was there.'

'I seem to be making an awful lot of confessions tonight,' Khashoggi sighed, 'Again, it's the old CCTV system. Most of the ones from the city were taken on the Globalsoft system, but since we lost you and because we had no CCTV out here… it's surprising how much of the old camera system still works. I don't know why they didn't think of it really. Either way, that's from there, as are many of the others.'

Scaramouche suddenly looked at him suspiciously, 'Does it just take stills or video footage?'

'Video.' Scaramouche looked at him blankly, horror-struck. 'It's okay. The curtain was drawn.' It was Galileo's turn to turn scarlet as he saw the photo and realised what they were referring to.

'Games now!' Meat shouted loudly. 'And Pop, get th' gal a drink!'


	2. Fun and Games

**Still not mine.**

Scaramouche rolled over and winced; her head was pounding. _Why, in the name of all that was Bohemian, why, why was she awake?_ She gingerly opened one eye. Khashoggi. She opened the other eye. Still Khashoggi. She blinked and rolled back over. Gaz. Groggily, she sat up, swayed and flopped back on the floor. Peals of raucous laughter came from somewhere, presumably directed at her. She sat up again, maintaining her balance by putting her head on her knees, closing her eyes in aversion to the bright light. Footsteps came from somewhere, and in a waft of perfume, cigarette smoke and alcohol fumes, Meat Loaf sat down in front of her.

'Good night, hen?' she asked, unable to keep the amusement from her tone.

Scaramouche opened her eyes again and squinted at her. 'Um.' Her eyes gradually became accustomed to the light, and she to sitting unaided.

Meat laughed again. 'Good, huh.'

Scaramouche shifted uncomfortably, staring down to avoid the glare of the lights. 'Meat..' she asked after a moment, 'What am I wearing?'

Meat laughed louder this time, clearly finding the question hilarious. Had she not still been half asleep, Scaramouche would have glared at her. 'Well, hen. You remember the costume we got ya? You were dared ta wear it, and agreed, on the condition ya could change back after we'd seen you in it. But then you didn't.'

'Oh. Why?'

'Pop said he could drink you under the table. You disagreed, rather vehemently, it has t'be said, so ye challenged him t'a shots competition. Most shots in a minute.'

'Did I win?'

'Y'know, that that's the first thing you ask says a lot. But yes. I think the phrase is 'Hands down'.'

They sat in silence for a moment, as various aches and pains started to make themselves known to Scaramouche. 'Meat,' she asked slowly, 'What happened last night?'

'What do ye remember?'

Scaramouche thought for a moment, but was unable to get past the pain, 'Nothing?'

'Can ye walk?'

'I think so,' Scaramouche nodded, before being helped up by Meat.

''Kay, we're gonna go sit in the bar, maybe that'll jog your memory, and I can explain better there, anyway. And Ah think you need some water.'

Once in the bar, Scaramouche sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, reasoning to Meat that it moved less, and she also had a shorter way to fall. As she sipped at a tankard of water, that being the only predominantly clean drinking vessel that could be found, Meat started explaining the evening. 'Well, Ah got you down here, and ye had your presents-'

'And then you said about games and drinks, I remember that bit,' Scaramouche said. Her mind was becoming slightly less hazy, and the flashes of recognition she'd had weren't entirely welcome.

'Well, tha's a start!'

In her soft lilt, Meat continued to explain, and Scaramouche continued to sober up, bringing with it her memory, not entirely welcome at times.

_They had started off lightly, with an altered version of Spin the Bottle, in which participants had the choice of a shot, or kissing whomever the bottle landed on. In a feeble explanation, Meat had told Scaramouche the rules were always different if it was someone's birthday, and as such, she had to kiss everyone but the one the bottle landed on, without the choice of a shot. Galileo, however, had protested on her behalf, and the rules had nearly become the same for all, though Scaramouche still didn't have the choice of a shot. She had spun the bottle furiously praying it would land on Galileo. Her prayers, however, had gone unanswered, and it had landed on Pop, Cliff, Meat and Khashoggi. Of all the rotten luck. Fortunately, Galileo had protested again, this time on his behalf, asking that it only be lip-to-cheek, in case she found someone better than him. The game had ended fairly swiftly; Meat and Big Macca clearly didn't have great attention spans._

_Pop plonked several glasses down, sloshing some of the contents over a pack of cards on the table they had commandeered, deemed by Meat as the most suitable location for games. _

'_So, Ring o' Fire works like this,' Meat said loudly, causing the occupants of the table to fall silent as they listened to her explanation. 'Each of the cards corresponds to an action, and if ye pick that card, you _have _to do that action. Ah've done a list of what they all mean,' she pushed a scrap of paper with a list of barely legible scrawls across the table towards them, 'Ah'll start, so you can get the 'ang of it. Oh, the only card yeh've gotta watch out for is the Jack. When yah get one o' them, yeh've gotta stand up, shout 'Boom Yeah', and do this,' she explained, demonstrating the 'this' with a rather vigorous thrust of her hips, received by a blink and an expression of shock from Galileo, pleasant surprise from Pop and Big Macca, and an appreciative smirk from Khashoggi. Scaramouche sighed at the thought of what she'd left herself in for. 'Game ends when all four Kings are up, or we move on to something else.'_

_'Ace... that's waterfall, right?' Galileo said twenty minutes into the game. Meat nodded, and after checking everyone had a sufficiency of drink, he pointed to Pop, who was sitting to his left, and proceeded to down his drink. Scaramouche felt her heart sink; she was sitting to his right, meaning she'd be the last to finish. In honour of her birthday, cards two and three had been delegated to 'Scaramouche drinks', and any subsequent delegations possible had been given to her. She was already starting to feel somewhat giddy. Clearly the Bohemians took this game seriously, played it fast, and were out to get her very drunk. Fortunately, she thought, Charlotte, Bob and Khashoggi weren't particularly strong drinkers, and would finish as soon as they could._

'I blame you for this,' Scaramouche said abruptly. 'You were just out to get me drunk and humiliated, weren't you?'

'Drunk, yes. Humiliated no, and you weren't.'

'Maybe not then, but I am now! I don't _get_ hangovers. And now I have the most monumental one ever. It makes me look like a lightweight.'

Meat laughed, 'Hen, trust me. After last night, no one is _ever_ going to doubt your ability to drink.'

_Never Ever was Pop's request, 'It's like Truths, but more embarrassing for everyone else. You start, Scara. Just say 'I have never ever… then something you've never done. If anyone has done it, they have to drink. If no one's done it, you do. Simple. Can be as clean-cut or as outrageous as you like.'_

_Scaramouche thought quickly, what hadn't she done, that others might have? Then, it came to her, 'I've never ever not been a girl,' she said simply. After several puzzled looks as they worked out what she meant, the men all drank._

'_You, hen,' Meat declared, 'Are clearly far too sober if you're going straight to the double negatives. My turn. I have never ever shagged the Dreamer, much as I might have liked to.'_

_Khashoggi looked slightly worried, and Scaramouche glared, while the surrounding Bohemians looked expectantly at her. Rolling her eyes, Scaramouche drank, to cheers and jeers from the Bohemians, 'I never thought 'e 'ad it in 'im,' she distinctly heard someone say. _

_Pop clapped Galileo on the back, 'Get in there, my son!' Galileo reddened. _

_Khashoggi looked Meat in the eye, 'I've never ever liked Vodka.'_

'_You're _boring_,' Meat stated matter-of-factly, taking a long swig of her vodka, 'Pop, you see if you can lower the tone.'_

'_I've never thought I fancied someone of the same sex.'_

_Furtive glances were cast around the group, before most drank._

'_You've fancied a girl?' Khashoggi asked Meat, giving her a slightly surprised look._

'_Yeh. Ah'm a Bohemian, ain' Ah?' Meat replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Khashoggi didn't dare question any further._

_Fortunately, most of the group had missed Scaramouche taking a sly drink. Galileo, however, hadn't. 'Scara?'_

_She shrugged, 'When everyone thinks you're a lesbian, you can't help but wonder.'_

_The tone rapidly decreased, causing Galileo to back away slightly from the group. Scaramouche noticed, laughed, and brought him back. 'Don't you worry your little head about it Gaz, I'll protect ya.' The game was soon tired of, the 'good' never evers having been used, and it dissolved into Truth or Dare, unanimously agreed to be easier to play, though each participant would have to admit both a truth and do a dare. By the time the game was in full swing, only Scaramouche, Galileo, Meat, Khashoggi, Big Macca and Pop remained._


	3. Truth or Dare

**For the third time, it's still not mine. What a pity.**

'_Truth,' Scaramouche said confidently; they were always a safer bet than dares. Naturally, she had been made to go first. The others huddled together, trying to find a suitable question for her to answer._

'_Okay hen,' Meat said as the group broke apart, Galileo looking distinctly uncomfortable. 'Was Gaz your first?'_

_Scaramouche looked confused, 'What do you mean, my first? First _what_?'_

'_Y'know… conquest. First guy.'_

'_Before I answer, can I forfeit?'_

'_That's as good as answering, and the forfeit is 7 minutes in Hell with Mack.'_

_Scaramouche winced. 'You're heinously mean, you know that?' Meat grinned and nodded, pleased at having backed Scaramouche into a corner. 'Alright then, no.' The look Galileo gave her forced her to explain, 'I was the Teen Queen's Queen. My boyfriend was the Boyzone leader. It was just expected.' She shrugged, 'Not a lot of choice, really.'_

_Sensing it was about to become uncomfortable, and potentially cause problems with Gaz, Meat swiftly moved the conversation on, 'You now Gaz.'_

'Did Gaz really say he didn't know when his birthday was?' Scaramouche asked conversationally, after a few minutes in reflective thought. She was sure that was what he had said; his parents had never celebrated it because it was nothing special, and if they ever had he was too young to have remembered it. In the orphanage, no ones birthday was remembered. So, it had just slipped into obscurity. He had never asked when it was, because he'd had no reason to. Anyway, he'd said, they all knew questioning wasn't accepted. You knew what you did, and what you did not was unimportant. As a result, his birthday was unimportant, and he'd always accepted it to be so.

Meat nodded sadly, 'Yeah, he did. I asked 'Shogg to find it out for him, so he's going to hack in ta what's left o' the Globalsoft database. Ah mean, the kid can't going his whole life without knowing when his birthday is. He doesn't even know how _old_ he is for a start.' She grinned, 'And when we find out, we've got that many years of parties ta make up fer.'

Scaramouche started to laugh, then stopped abruptly; her head was still fragile, and laughing gave it feel like hobnailed bohemians were dancing fast and furiously. She winced, 'Did Macca really let you shave his head, leaving a pink and green Mohawk?'

Meat giggled, 'Yeah. He's bitterly regretting it now though. His hair was his pride and joy. I don't think Ah'm gonna be flavour o' the month for a good while.'

'You went after him, didn't you?' Scaramouche said, racking her brain for what Meat had done.

'Well, if ye cannae remember Ah'm no gonna remin' ye.'

She had been so confident in their lack of ability to choose a good dare, that that was what she had instantly chosen; she knew she'd have to tell a truth later, but she was hoping she'd be drunk enough not to care what she said. Unfortunately, it became apparent Khashoggi had spent long and hard prior to the party deciding her dare.

'_Okay Miss Loaf,' Khashoggi said, turning round from the group to face her, 'your dare is to streak the length of the central platform.'_

'_Ye bastard!' was her indignant response, though she was drunk enough not to care. Hell, she'd probably do it sober. She had done it though, to cheers from onlookers, while carrying her clothes so she could get redressed at the other end of the platform._

_Naturally, she had been determined to have her own back on him, and his truth was the perfect opportunity. 'What's your real name? And don't try and evade the question with 'Khashoggi'. What did your parents, your friends call you?'_

_Khashoggi looked away; he knew it had to come out at some time or other, but he'd really rather it didn't. He sighed, and looked her in the eye, 'I have two,' he began softly, 'my parents gave me the name Alistair. When I started working for Killer Queen she decided she didn't like it, so she changed it to Aleron. It never really stuck though, because she only ever used 'Commander' or 'Khashoggi'.' _

'_Tha's not so bad,' Meat said, draping her arm around his shoulders. 'They suit ye anyway.'_

_Khashoggi frowned, 'Now your truth Meat,' he said, dismissing her comment._

'_But Ah just did me dare!'_

'_Yes, but their,' Khashoggi gestured to Scaramouche and Galileo, 'dares will be fleeting.'_

'_Fine. What ye got?'_

'_Best orgasm,' Scaramouche said promptly. 'What? Don't ya want to know?' she said to Galileo, who looked shocked and slightly faint._

_Meat blushed a particularly deep shade of crimson, 'Then I get to ask you the same question.'_

_Scaramouche shrugged, 'I've got nothing to hide.' _

'_Ah've never had an orgasm,' Meat mumbled after a pause. Khashoggi blinked. 'Now you.'_

_Scaramouche smiled and nodded towards Galileo, who smirked. 'The clone was terrible.' Galileo smirked again and sniggered, this time drawing the attention of Pop and Khashoggi, who was still preoccupied with Meat. Galileo was smirking? He _never_ smirked._

Meat sniggered, 'I'm not sure Khashoggi's gonna forgive me for the vodka.'

Scaramouche snorted, 'He spat it out, didn't he?'

'Yep. Poor guy. But Ah can honestly say, the image o' Pop as a Fat Bottomed Boy will never ever leave me'. That had been his truth; what he did before he had been a librarian. He had then confessed that it had only been for a short while; he had been relegated for becoming too close to the Fat Bottomed Girls.

'Thanks. I'd forgotten that one,' Scaramouche said flatly, unimpressed at the reminder. 'I'm gonna have to try and not picture that one, which is hard when you think pictorially. It was just after that when he dared me to wear this, wasn't it?'

'Yeah.'

_She knew she was only agreeing because she was drunk, and would regret it bitterly later. Like she'd said not so long ago, it was they who would be having the laugh. The costume took her longer to get on than they had anticipated, so in the meanwhile Galileo had been given his dare; to wear the costume of a Fat Bottomed Boy. He protested, but Meat was insistent; he had to wear the pink leather hot pants, or be alone with Charlotte for seven minutes._

_Scaramouche stood in front of Meat's mirror; she had to give it to her, Meat had chosen the costume well, and surprisingly enough, it fitted perfectly. She tugged at the shorts, wishing they would cover more of her. Though she hadn't realised it at the time, the boots were thigh-high, and were probably the most concealing part of the ensemble. The apron was there, but that was all that could be said about it; it scraped the bottom of the shorts and tied at the lower back, while being held with a halter-neck strap that looked as if it would snap at any second. Thank Rock for bras, she thought. She took a long swig of a bottle of Meat's vodka for Dutch courage, sighed, and walked quickly back to the bar, heels clicking on the stone ground. _

'_Scara?'_

_She jumped and turned, surprised to see Galileo behind her. Then, realising what he was, or rather, was not wearing, she smirked, 'You got dared to wear that?' He nodded sadly. 'Don't worry about it Gaz, you got nothin' t' worry about.'_

'_Thanks,' he said dryly, hiding his relief. 'Neither do you.'_

_A blonde head appeared around the corner, 'We thought you'd got yaselves lost you were takin' so long.' She frowned, realising they were together, 'You weren't meant to see each other though. Not until ye were back in there,' she gestured somewhere behind her, clearly impatient that they should follow her so the game could be continued. 'Ye both look tot'ly rock'n'roll.'_

_Back in the bar, they had been greeted by applause and wolf-whistles from Pop. 'Mack did want to witness this, but he got called away on 'urgent business'', he smirked. 'So urgent it involved the borrowing of a bottle of something and Madonna.'_

'_So Pop, you're the only one who hasn't had a dare-'_

'_Please can it involve a drink?' he asked, worried about what they'd come up with otherwise. 'I could drink any one of you under the table and back again.'_

_Scaramouche turned back to him, from where Galileo was reassuring her that Big Macca hadn't just wanted to see her dressed as she was to laugh. 'You _what_?' she said, astounded. _

'_I could drink you under the table,' Pop said matter-of-factly._

'_That's it!' Scaramouche yelled, 'You and me, shots contest, right now!' No one was going to challenge her ability to drink._

'Thanks, Meat. For everything. The most memorable birthday I've had, and most definitely the best.'

'You're quite welcome, hen. If yeh cannae live a little on yer eighteenth, when can ya, tha's wha' Ah say.'

Scaramouche laughed, 'How true'.


End file.
